Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter and Spring
by Noacat
Summary: It's said that only after the rain falls, does the earth harden. In every life, mistakes are made and our choices define us. And the question that must be answered is: Can we wait for the rain to stop? Sess/Kag AU COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Foreward**

Hello! This will be the only real author's note I'll be giving you, other than translations and cultural notes.

Firstly, I want to say that this fic was inspired by _Oroyukae's_ wonderful fic, _"Broken Promises"_ on Dokuga. If you haven't read it, I suggest you go ahead and DO IT NOW. That being said, though this was inspired by her fic, it is in NO way a direct continuation of her story. It borrows elements, but it stands well on its own. Additionally, it is inspired by two of my favorite movies the Korean film _"Spring Summer Autumn Winter and Spring" _ from which this story got its name and _"The Milagro Beanfield Wars"_ . If you've seen either flick, you'll see what I'm talking about when you read the story.

Secondly, I want to impress upon the reader that this story is intended for MATURE audiences. And when I say mature, I'm not just talking about age. I do not write easy stories. If you are looking for a PWP, this is not your story. If you're willing to endure a esoteric story that'll make you think, I got you covered.

And if you skim through the story, not bothering to read the important parts while looking for citrus (and there will be some citrus) and then you wonder why things don't make sense... that's because you didn't read it. Do not review and ask me a question that could have easily been answered had you read attentively. Additionally, I'm trying a different kind of story-telling technique (common in Japan, btw) where some parts of the story are implied, rather than explained in crystal clear detail. You may have to read between the lines a little and come up with the answers on your own. Don't be frustrated. Just read it over and think it out. I promise it won't hurt you.

This story is rated for adult themes, violence, swearing and sexual content. If you are under the age of 18 or uncomfortable with any of the things listed, please do not read any further.

Thank you for you time and enjoy the story.

Dedicated to Oroyukae, my grandfather, Robert Cope, my grandmother, Jean Cope, and my uncle, John Gipson.

* * *

_Spring_

One of the first things he noticed about people were their hands; they could tell so much about a person. His hands were gnarled and arthritic, ending in long, bony fingers with prominent joints that stuck out like the weathered knots of an old oak tree: dirt was caked into wrinkles that could be gorges; scars as wide as valleys; calluses hardened flat like river rocks. They were a working man's hands which had no rest for eighty-six years, and, if the gods were willing, they would see at least a few more.

With a guttural grunt, the old man crouched down, knees digging into the soft forest floor, fingers probing for the thin roots of a young ukogi plant. Taking great care not to damage it, he considered his hands as the root was revealed.

_How time flies like an arrow._

Once, he had fine, strong hands; young and nimble, able to carve the world without thinking. Now, he struggled to dig out a root without his fingers becoming painfully stiff and sore. Yes, a human's life on this earth was very short. It was an eye-blink in the face of the gods; small and insignificant like the ukogi was to him. He lifted the young bush from the ground and shook it out and placed it in his basket. Silently, he thanked the plant for its sacrifice.

With a pained groan, he stood up, his aching old body protesting the sharp movement. The old man closed his eyes and rubbed the small of his back, just standing there for a moment to catch his breath. Smacking his lips, he coughed harshly, walking slowly down a well worn path.

Far in the distance, he could hear his dog, Koma, barking wildly as he ran through the underbrush. It was the first real warm day in spring; he guessed the month to be around mid-May, if he'd read the stars right. The winter had been long and hard and the fresh winds of spring were appreciated by both the man and his best friend.

'_A half an hour of spring really was worth a thousand gold pieces_,' he mused quietly.

Ahead, his old eyes spied the dog, running at him full tilt, his long, pink tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. The old man couldn't help but laugh; the sound was dry and rusty but warm. At the sight of his master, the dog let out a joyful sound, half bark, half yip, and it ran faster, colliding with the man at top speed and nearly knocking him over. He laughed again, and patted the shiba-inu's head appreciatively. The dog reared up and snuffled his hand, licking the rough skin reverently before going back on all fours to trot around his master's legs, tail wagging happily.

Having acknowledged his friend, the old man continued on his way, heedless of the dog's continued fussing. It circled 'round his master, barking and yipping, jumping excitedly at this and that as dogs do. Unbothered, he sauntered down the path, arms and legs swinging in ungainly rhythm as if he'd only just learned how to walk; a feat accomplished only by the very young or very old.

Every few feet the old man would stop, picking his way through the brush as he foraged, lumping whatever he found in the same battered rattan basket. He'd just found a rather tasty looking cluster of mushrooms when he noticed that the dog hadn't ceased his yapping. It wasn't all that unusual. Shiba-inu could be noisy dogs, and Koma did like to hear himself talk quite a bit but there was something different about it – a high-pitched squeal that wasn't there before. Carelessly wiping a hand over his mouth, he turned back and scowled at the mutt, who had planted himself just a few feet away.

"Quiet, Koma!" But the dog didn't seem to hear him, it only continued growling, his stance tense. Befuddled, the old man followed the dog's fierce gaze. There was a man there – _no, it wasn't really a man_, he thought, taking in the unnatural silver hair and blazing gold eyes. "Hmph. Youkai," he said, more to himself than anyone else, and then he turned away, intent on harvesting those tasty looking mushrooms. _Yes, mushroom soup sounded nice tonight_.

"You are Mushin, no?" The youkai's voice was deep; commanding.

"Ayuh," he answered succinctly, eyeing the youkai warily for a moment. Koma was still barking. How annoying. "Hush, mutt," he grumbled, giving him a swift smack to the rear with his walking stick. The dog whimpered, and the old man grunted, satisfied with the silence that followed. He glanced up at the demon expectantly and when he said nothing else, the old man shrugged and went back to work, quickly plucking the mushrooms from the desiccated tree stump that had been their home. He placed them in the basket and affixed its cover, groaning a bit as he swung it around and pulled his arms through the straps. Once he was sure it was safely on his shoulders, he trudged onward, aware that the youkai would follow him.

The old man had no idea why a youkai would be interested in the likes of him and he didn't much care. From the looks of the demon, he was quite powerful. There was very little an old codger like him could do if he decided to attack. Anyway, he'd lived a long and happy life with no regrets. If the gods wished to have him, Mushin had no argument with the decision.

As he expected, the youkai followed. The old man shuffled along, seemingly oblivious. He glanced up at the sky. It was fine and clear. There was no mist today. Some thought it was bad luck, but he'd never put a lot of stock in such nonsense. So long as one was respectful, the gods would take no issue. Anyway, the lack of fog allowed him to see the clear waters of Lake Mashū from the trees; the deep blue water reflected the sky nicely. The old man smiled softly, pressing his hands together and bowing low, he gave thanks that he lived one more day in such a world as this. Shifting his pack, he continued on, until he reached a set of barely visible stone steps. Inhaling deeply, he prepared himself as he ascended step by step, ever so slowly. The dog tore ahead of him, taking three, four steps at a time, tongue lolling crazily. He didn't look, but he knew that he hadn't shaken his youkai tag-along. It was no matter.

When he finally reached the top of the steps, his legs were on fire and it took every ounce of willpower to force himself forward. Reaching the front stoop of the small hermitage he called home, he relieved himself of his burden and sat heavily on the worn wooden boardwalk. He took his sandals off and rubbed his aching feet before folding them underneath himself. Setting his hands on his knees, he looked up at his visitor, long, wiry eyebrows lifted in expectation. The youkai said nothing; he just stared at the old man as the old man stared at him.

"Hmph," he huffed, the short whiskers on his scrubby moustache puffing out with the exhalation. Grunting and groaning as he stood up to retrieve several smaller baskets before sitting down once more. Without paying any further attention to his visitor, he went about sorting out what he'd gathered. He was aware that the youkai wasn't particularly pleased with his inattention – seemed like the sort who wasn't used to being ignored. But the old man wasn't about to pry whatever it was the youkai wanted out of him. If it was truly so important, he'd have to say something.

Ten minutes passed, and then an hour, then three, and still the youkai said nothing which didn't faze the old man much. _I suppose it'll be up to me_, he thought. Plunking one of his mushrooms in a basket with its brothers, he gazed up at the youkai, his dark eyes gleaming brightly, belying his age. "Well, are you just going to stand there?" he asked grumpily, dusting off and tossing a burdock root into the farthest basket. Taking a good, long look at the youkai, he noticed something. His eyes spoke, though his mouth didn't move. _This is a man who has lost everything_. With a great, heaving sigh, he gestured to the hermitage's small front door. "Put your things in the second room. You'll help me sort."

The youkai balked at the statement. The old man smiled, _not used to being ignored or ordered, are we?_ Mushin wondered what he would do, and was pleasantly surprised when the demon strode forward into the hermitage. He reappeared moments later, settling himself next to the old man; he reached into the gathering basket. Before he could grab a single herb, the old man caught his wrist. The youkai's eyes widened, surprised that a human, especially as one as aged as this one, could be so quick.

Mushin turned the youkai's hands over, examining both front and back. His nails were manicured, cuticles neat and tidy. His palms were unlined and without calluses. Some might not be surprised. Youkai healing could do a great many things, but Mushin knew it could not hide the evidence of hard work.

"You got city boy's hands," he remarked mildly as he scratched his beard, letting the youkai's hands go. He could tell the demon was displeased but it was the unvarnished truth. This youkai hadn't worked an honest day's work his whole life. From head to toe, he screamed 'privilege'. "Those herbs ain't gonna sort themselves."

A few more minutes passed. The old man sorted quietly. The youkai glared at the old man. Then, quite abruptly, he reached into the basket full of herbs, drew out the ugoki and placed it gently into one of the smaller baskets.

**Cultural Notes/Definitions**

_Ukogi_ -- a native Japanese thorny shrub; a close relative to Ginseng. This plant is used in traditional Japanese herbal medicine, sometimes as a substitute for the more expensive Ginseng. Almost every part of this shrub can be used, from its leaves to its root. It is generally used to treat rheumatism, minor muscle aches, insomnia, bronchitis and impotence.

_Shiba-inu_ -- one of the oldest breeds of dog, native to Japan. They are known for their independent temperament and cleanliness. When threatened or upset, they make a distinctive sound known as the Shiba Shriek.

_Koma Inu_ -- "Lion-dogs" that guard shrines. Koma is named after these protective spirits.

_Lake Mashū_ -- A caldera lake, i.e. a lake formed from the crater of an inactive volcano, located in Hokkaidō. It is one of the world's clearest lakes. During the summer, it is covered in fog. There is an old superstition that if someone sees the lake during summer that they will never marry again.


	2. Chapter 2

_Summer_

July had come into Hokkaidō with the relentless insistence of climbing wisteria; grabbing onto the very air and curling around it. The old man had never much cared for warm weather, even when he was young and hale, though he supposed it could be worse. He'd been to Tokyo once during the summer months. Far too sticky. Too busy. Too much of everything.

_Kachou Fuugetsu... flower, bird, wind and moon_ – an old proverb but a good one -- _to experience the beauties of nature was a far better thing than that noisy city_, he mused. Chewing on a blade of grass, he looked out over the trees which were shrouded in the familiar fog that wafted up off the lake. "Thank the gods, I have another day," he whispered, going back to the small piece of wood he'd been whittling. Three hours of work and he was nearly done shaping what would be a dog-shaped katabori-netsuke. In his youth, he'd been able to carve one in less than an hour, but his fingers had lost their strength. Even so, his carvings were still exquisite. He sold them to souvenir shops in Teshikaga-chō. It gave him some pocket change, and that wasn't so bad.

In the old days, when this hermitage was a renowned house of healing, he had carved mostly to amuse himself when there was nothing better to do, but no one clung to the old ways anymore and the nameless hermitage he called home was forgotten. He was the last of his order – a dying breed of healers, who had once commanded the attention of kings. The old man laughed which quickly turned into a nasty, glottal cough that winded him badly. It soon passed.

He spit out the blade of grass, hobbling over to a small bucket filled with water. Grabbing the long wooden ladle resting inside, he lifted it up to his lips and took a long drink. The old man wiped off the excess that had dribbled down his chin and returned to his carving. Digging the knife into the soft boxwood, his mind lingered in the past for a bit. But his concentration soon shifted. From the depths of the wood, the youkai who'd taken up residence returned with an armful of fire wood. Koma trailing behind him like an obedient retainer. The old man grunted in an amused sort of way. _Perhaps we serve kings still_, he thought.

These past two months he had learned quite a bit from this youkai, though he said very little. His name was Sesshoumaru, he came from Honshū, and he had been ill, very ill, up until recently; some kind of mental problem. From what little the youkai had said, something terrible had come of it which, Mushin supposed, was why he was here rather than back in that noisy city.

The youkai's doctor had told him the fresh air would do him good, a surprisingly wise conclusion, considering the source. Mushin had little use for modern doctors. All talk, they were. They knew half as much as they thought, and understood even less. In any event, the old man couldn't help but be grateful this youkai had been sent this way. He had never eaten so well. They had fallen into a comfortable rhythm of sorts. The youkai helped when he could. Hunting, chopping wood, and generally doing most of the things the old man found hard to do, and the old man gathered his herbs and cooked what the youkai caught.

He paused in his carving to light up his pipe. The youkai didn't like it much, he could tell by the way his lip would curl ever so slightly, but he had never said anything. Mouthing the pipe, he let the smoke curl out the sides of his mouth before exhaling slowly. The scent of the tobacco was heavy and sweet. He began to carve again, watching the youkai sagely and wondering what this king had done to abandon his kingdom.

Curiosity finally got the better of him, so he asked, "Why are you here, youkai?"

Sesshoumaru stiffened, turning his back on the old man. "My reasons are my own."

It was quiet for five good minutes. The youkai had relaxed a bit, perhaps thinking the old man had just let it go as he had in the beginning.

"Hmph. It was a woman, wasn't it?"

That got the youkai's attention. "How do you know that?!" he demanded darkly, golden eyes bearing down on the slumped figure of the old man. The rage in his words was palpable.

Mushin cackled, and for a moment the youkai wondered if the codger had gone mad. "What _else_ would it be?" The tension, which had sprung up so quickly, had died with equal rapidity. "So, out with it."

The youkai turned away and began stacking wood; for a bit the old man thought he might not answer. But then, as he arranged the wood, the youkai told his tale. He had a wife – a woman with hair as black as inky midnight and eyes that glowed like sapphires. He loved her more than anything else. He had mistreated her, though he had not meant to. There were technical bits that Mushin didn't understand, but somehow this mental problem of his had caused a great rift in the relationship. Mushin did not understand psychology, but he did know that the mind was a funny thing. In the war, he'd seen a man shoot his own brother in a rage. Minutes later that same man, realizing what he'd done, had wept like a child. The human mind was capable of great weakness. He supposed that youkai were not so different then...

And as the youkai recounted how he'd wronged the woman he'd loved, Mushin listened quietly, non-judgmentally. The youkai left nothing out. He told the old man about the death of his mother and how hard he'd taken it. Recounted how, in his grief, he'd pushed everyone away, even her... especially her. He told him about the drinking and the arguments. How she had stayed with him to the bitter end, never truly giving up on him -- until the infidelity. Once she'd found out about that, there had been a big blow up. She accused him of not loving her. It had made him so angry...

He had never laid a hand on her before then. The youkai told him that the look on her face that night still haunted him. Her wide eyes and the way that they gazed at him in silent accusation, horror reflected in their depths; the way her hand had hovered just over her lip, which had been split. She carefully cradled her chin, fat drops of dark blood oozing out from between slender fingers as it fell and spattered on the white carpet.

_Bastard_...

It was the last word she'd ever spoken directly to him.

She had left that night and he had not stopped her. He'd sat down in their den, head in his hands as he realized what it was he'd done. Not just that night, but it and all the nights before. The cumulative anguish and guilt nearly overwhelmed him. But he'd been determined. He had decided, after a long night alone, sobering up, that he would apologize for everything and do whatever it would take to make it right. Whatever she wanted him to do, he would. He loved her... Four days later, he received the divorce papers. Shortly after that, there was a failed suicide attempt and he'd been institutionalized for a brief time. When he had finally come back to himself, after months of effort, she had found another and with this man she'd become pregnant. Sesshoumaru thought he had come to terms with it, but the pain proved too hard to bear. Fearing a relapse, he did as his doctor ordered and left the noisy city.

By the end of the story, the wood had been stacked quite neatly and Mushin knew what it was the youkai had really come for. Exhaling plumes of smoke from his nostrils and mouth, the old man beckoned the youkai over and Sesshoumaru obeyed. Grabbing the youkai's hand, he firmly pressed the hilt of the knife into Sesshoumaru's palm. Fingers curling over leather smoothed by years of use, he looked at the old man with a befuddled expression.

"Do you know the Hannya-haramita Sutra?"

"Yes."

"Carve this sutra into the boardwalk until you are purged of all negative emotion. Then and only then, will you find peace."

The youkai looked at the knife, still bitterly confused but he did as he was told. Kneeling onto the walkway, he prepared to carve his first character.

"Wait," the old man said, throwing a string of beads at the youkai, which he easily caught. "You'll wear these."

"Why?"

"In these hands, you have so much power. Learn what it is to be without it," the old man replied. The youkai glared at him, horrified by the mere suggestion. For the first time ever while in the presence of this demon, it was the old man who was angered. "You think redemption is so easy? That it can be won with no effort? This is why you fail! You have so much but know so little," he barked, jabbing a finger at the youkai emphatically. A jarring series of coughs followed, brought on by the old man's high temper. Once he recovered, he spoke again, voice raspy and strained from the abuse. "It's only _afte_r the rain that the earth hardens, boy. Remember that."

The youkai's eyes widened slightly, looking down at his hands. With an imperceptible nod, he wound the sacred beads around his wrist methodically. They glowed and after a moment, he felt his strength leave him. Once it was gone, he began to carve.

It took him two days to finish.

Mushin looked over the youkai's work, and gave him an approving grunt as he ground the herbs collected days previously to a fine powder. He swept it into a small clay bowl, adding water and stirring it with one thick finger. Once it had reached the consistency that he wanted, he gave it to the youkai, who had been standing there waiting for him. Wiping his finger on his pants, he toddled back and retrieved three more clay bowls, one larger than the other that was filled with clean water. He approached the first character the youkai had carved and set them down, patting the space next to him.

The youkai sat down, wondering what the old man was going to do now; long silver hair pooling around him. Mushin grabbed a smallish hank and dipped it into one of the bowls, staining it a bright, cherry red as it absorbed the ink he'd just made. He did not notice the youkai's annoyed scowl. Bending over, he carefully painted the first character carved. He settled back once his work was done and examined it. Apparently happy, he cleaned off the lock of hair he'd used and handed the youkai a different bowl of colored ink.

"Paint the characters. With each stroke, feel that the anger has truly left your heart, and let peace fill the empty space left behind."

The youkai nodded. Combing his hands through is hair he braided it and bound it. Dipping the tip into a bowl and he began to paint the second character.

Another two days passed, and the boardwalk surrounding the hermitage was now covered with the brightly colored characters that made up the Hannya-haramita sutra. The old man surveyed the youkai's work, idly scratching his neck. He nodded and clasped his hands behind his back. Slowly he approached the worn stone statue of the Bosatsu that sat just inside the hermitage. He put a hand on its head, back turned to his youkai companion.

"You will take this statue to the top of yon mountain," the old man said, gesticulating to peak rising above them. "Once you reach the top, put the Buddha on the pedestal you find there." He gazed back, gauging the youkai's reaction: impassive, but strangely eager. Good. "You will meditate, reciting the sutra you just wrote. Take no food with you. No water. You will have only what the gods give you."

"When should I return?"

"When it is time and you are ready."

The youkai debated the vagaries of that answer until he understood. He stepped forward and picked up the surprisingly heavy statue and then he climbed the hill. Without his youkai strength to help him, the journey was difficult and he faltered many times. And once he reached the small mountain's peak, he was exhausted. Hands trembling, he placed the Buddha on the pedestal and turned around to gaze at the valley below. It was breathtaking, and he finally understood why the old man had sent him up here. He saw his own insignificance and in seeing and understanding, he could find what it was he was looking for. Settling down on the cold ground in full lotus position, he began his meditation.

Five days later, he came down from the mountain, Buddha in hand, weighing less than he had before in more than one way. The monk saw the difference and was pleased. Tired, but feeling more serene than he had in his entire life, the youkai gently put the Buddha back in its rightful place. He sat down next to the old man, who was resting on the boardwalk petting Koma while he stared out into the distance. Without even glancing at the youkai, Mushin handed him the knife again.

"There is one last step," the old man said.

The youkai took it, his brows furrowed. "I don't understand."

"Your hair. Cut it all off." He could tell the youkai was very displeased with the idea. "Let this last thing go. It's only hair."

Sesshoumaru hesitated for a moment, his hand wrapped around his long braid. His indecision was short lived as pulled the length taught, cutting the braid with one stroke. It fell, landing on the boardwalk with a perfunctory thump. He used the knife to shorten what was left, and then once it was short enough, the old man had brought him a stone razor to shave the rest. He didn't stop until he was as bald as the old man.

The old man smiled, puffing on his pipe slowly. "Good."

And the youkai smiled back.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he rid himself of his former life – leaving it all behind to follow the curious routines of the old man until it became second nature for both of them. The old man had never taken an apprentice. He had been quite sure he would die without one and had accepted it. But the gods had sent him the youkai and he had taken up the position, though he was surely much older than the old man. Clearly, they needed each other. It was meant to be, and so it was that the days passed, turning into months which turned into years.

**Cultural Notes/Translations**

_Hannya-haramita sutra_ -- Also known as the _Prajñāpāramitā H__ṛ__daya_ in the original Sanskrit, in English: The _Heart of Great Wisdom Sutra_ or simply the _Heart Sutra_. A well known Buddhist sutra for its brevity and depth of meaning, the Heart sutra is said to remove all suffering.

_Bosatsu_ -- Japanese translation of Sanskrit word: Bodhisattva, i.e. Buddha, one who seeks enlightenment.

Katabori-netsuke -- Small carved figures made from bone or wood. Originally, these little pieces of art were used to secure purses, fans, etc. to an obi. Now they are enjoyed for their pure esthetic appeal.

_Kachou Fuugetsu_ -- An old Japanese proverb with the literal meaning: flower, bird, wind and moon. It is meant to evoke an appreciation in nature.

_Teshikaga-chō_ -- A small town in Hokkaidō near Lake Mashū.

_Honshū_ -- Japan's largest island; Tokyo, Kyoto and Osaka are all located on this island.

_Hair-cutting_ -- In Japanese tradition, it is a symbolic gesture performed to cut all ties to the world (most usually by Sumo wrestlers or Buddhist monks).


	3. Chapter 3

**WARNING: This chapter contains implied sexual content. If you are under the age of 18 or sensitive to the subject in question, please read no further. If you are of age and wish to see the uncensored version of this chapter, a link will be provided in my profile. **

_Autumn_

Five long years had gone by. The youkai and the old man had lived in peaceful silence. They had come to enjoy each other's company quite a bit, though neither spoke very often. Quiet companionship served them both better. But over those years, the old man had become gradually frailer. The frequent cough that had bothered him five years previous had gotten much, much worse. When blood showed up in his sputum, he knew he hadn't a long time to live. He had hidden it from the youkai for as long as he could, but inevitably he found out. His apprentice confined him to his bed, not that he was able to do much anyway. He was glad for the rest.

The youkai was very attentive. Mushin could tell he was worried, terrified even. His apprentice had made great strides. He came here with nothing and would leave with so much more, Mushin knew this. But on his death bed, he realized he had made a grave error. This young man had come to this mountain to heal himself, and he had done just that, but foolish old man that he was, he had forgotten the depth of a youkai's loyalty to those that help them. He had taken advantage of it; pronounced the boy his apprentice, when he should have sent him back into the world. The old man cursed himself. He had been glad of the young man's company in his waning years, without seeing that this was no life for a youkai of his strength. _Selfish, arrogant old fool!_

Grabbing the youkai's work weathered hand with his own, he rasped, "Why are you here, youkai?"

For a moment, Sesshoumaru thought the old man might be in some sort of delusional state. "What do you mean by that?"

"Our journey together will end soon... you've found that which you've sought."

"Yes, and...?"

"This is not your place anymore!" The youkai opened his mouth to explain why this wasn't true, but the man silenced him with a hand squeeze. "You were not meant to stand still. You _belong_ to the world. Once I pass, you must go back. It is the final step."

"But..."

"This life is not for you," the old man whispered, his words drowned out by a violent coughing fit that brought up a large amount of blood.

It was then the youkai had realized the seriousness of the old man's condition. He had been lead to believe it was only a nasty cold...

Against his wishes, the youkai found and brought a doctor to the mountain. This doctor had wanted to take the old man back to Teshikaga-chō for tests, but he had refused. Without any other recourse, the doctor could only guess by the old man's superficial symptoms. He was weak, easily fatigued and had lost a great amount of weight, not to mention the cough.

"Lung cancer, probably stage four," the doctor said; the clinical indifference in his voice bothered the youkai though he said nothing. "Untreatable. The only thing we'd be able to do would be to make him more comfortable."

And again, the old man refused. He was comfortable here. He had lived his life here. He would die right here. Three days later, he did just that-- his youkai companion by his side right to the end.

The youkai had never cried in his long, long life, and as he closed the old man's eyes, dead and blind to the world, he silently wished he could. Hand resting on the old man's bald head, he looked out the open door. The skies cried for him. Rain poured down from the heavens, clear and cold. It was September. The leaves had begun to fall. Sesshoumaru had never felt so empty.

Five days later came the old man's funeral. The entire village had shown up for it. In life, he had thought he had been forgotten, but he hadn't. Many owed their lives and the lives of their children and grand-children to him. He was given a king's send off. The youkai stuck to the periphery. Once the crowds cleared, he paid his respects and took the old man's ashes back to the mountain. He scattered them on the peak. When he came down, he went about the business of living, taking over the hermitage in the Mushin's place and forgetting the careful words of a dying old man.

Two weeks passed and he had settled into his routines once more, though they still felt strange without the old man, they were comfortable. They were his. Then she showed up one morning on his front stoop, with a young girl no more than five or six clutching onto her leg. He had never thought he'd see her again. The dog barked wildly, trotting around his legs excitedly, waiting for his master to direct him.

"Quiet, Koma." And the dog fell silent almost instantly.

She looked tired – like he had when he'd first come here.

He rose slowly, looking her up and down. Long minutes passed when they did nothing more than stare at one another. Both had changed so much and yet so little. Her eyes strayed to his bald head and the striking lack of his youkai markings, to his ears which looked so human. The only thing that indicated his heritage was his eyes which were still a bright, shining gold. He wore a concealing spell, something she recalled he had never done. He had always been so proud of what he was.

"You cut your hair."

He nodded, smoothing a clawless hand over his head. "So did you."

She fingered the short bob self-consciously. "Yes, I did."

"Please, come inside."

Seconds later they found themselves in the small common room of the hermitage, sitting across from each other, staring. Neither of them could find the words they longed to say. It was Sesshoumaru, finally, who bridged the distance.

"How did you find me?" he asked, honestly curious.

"Your brother."

"Ah, why are you here?"

"I didn't know where else to go." And then she began to cry.

With great reservation, he stood and placed a hand on her head. "Then you may stay here. Take the second room, over there."

She nodded, her entire body trembling. "Thank you."

Over the next few days he found out what had driven her here. The young human man whom she'd fallen in love with and married had been murdered. Before they had met, her young man hadn't been a moral, upstanding citizen. He was a yakuza assassin, and assassins, naturally, had many enemies and though he'd given up that life, he couldn't leave it behind entirely. Someone from his past had found him, and exacted revenge for a slight her young man had long forgotten. Fearing for her own life and the life of her child, she had fled.

"What will you do?" he asked her over breakfast one morning.

She had recovered some and could talk about it now without crying. "I'll go back eventually, once Miroku says it's safe."

"Hn." And he left it at that.

The next few weeks a new routine was born. He still went about many of his old ones, but she pitched in, cooking and cleaning while he went out into the forest. She'd sweep the worn boardwalk, curiously examining the age faded characters covering the ancient wood. Kagome recognized the prayer. Stooping low, her fingers traced the carvings and she wondered who had put them there. The color had been worn away by time and weather somewhat, but it was still bright, though no longer new. It had been carved and painted recently.

"Sesshoumaru," she murmured breathily.

He returned, as if conjured, with his dog and her daughter trailing behind him giddily. She still couldn't get used to seeing him without any hair. It was so strange. They glanced at each other briefly before breaking contact, and going about their respective chores without saying a thing.

The next day, he awoke early, as he always did. He began his morning ablutions, starting with braiding his newly grown hair. Being a youkai as powerful as he, even the old holy relic the old man had given him couldn't hold his strength at bay entirely. While awake, he could suppress it, but when he slept it leaked around the edges. Every morning he would shave his hair off, and every night it would re-grow to its original length. Cutting it off had become something of a ritual meditation for him, still evoking a sense of leaving everything behind. It was important, now more than ever.

Just as he finished the braid and prepared to cut it, he felt a tug on his sleeve. Turning, he met the gaze of Kagome's daughter, Rin.

"What are you doing, houshi-sama?"

"Cutting my hair."

The girl's head tilted to the side, doing the mental math. "You didn't have any yesterday," she commented, reaching out boldly to touch the braid with her hand. It was very soft.

"My hair grows fast."

"Yes, it does," she agreed, with a little nod. "Momma said you were youkai."

"I am."

"I didn't know youkai could be monks."

"Neither did I."

"I don't think you should cut it."

"Why?"

She shrugged and said, "what's the point, when it grows back so fast. 'Sides, it's pretty." A second or two of silence passed. "Want me to brush it for you?"

He didn't know what possessed him to put the knife down and pull out the braid. Perhaps it was the simple way the child had worded the request. Perhaps it was something else. One way or the other, he had indulged the girl, handing her his brush and turning away. Shortly thereafter, he felt her small hands comb through his hair before gently dragging the brush over it. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, nor did he notice when Kagome woke up to find her daughter brushing his hair.

In the end, it did not matter. From that day forward, he no longer cut his hair. He would wake and wait for the little girl to join him. She would brush and braid his hair, and after it was done, the day would begin.

More time passed, and only a few leaves remained on the trees. The air was crisp and cold. He guessed that it might snow soon. It always came early in Hokkaidō. He had become closer with Kagome and her little girl. It felt strange, but somehow right. Looking over the nearly bare trees, he thought that it might be the last step needed to find what he was looking for, though he had to be careful. Living with Kagome again brought up old feelings, ones that were so very hard to suppress. She felt it too. He could see it in her eyes – they spoke so much louder than words. The old man had often said as much. In the dull autumn light, he could hear her stir, stretching her sleepy limbs awake as she exited her room. Their eyes met, glowing with unspoken emotion. She had always looked her most beautiful first thing in the morning.

"Ohayō," she said, smiling sweetly.

Neither of them looked away. Hearts hammering in their chests as the air around them became electric.

"Ohayō," he replied, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small half-smile.

And the day went forward in the same fashion as it had for the last two months; no change in routine but for the newly acknowledged tension between them. This day would be different from all others; they both knew it intuitively -- sleeves touching, fingers fluttering over flesh when a cup was passed from his hand to hers.

He resisted the feeling as much as he could.

They retired to their separate rooms that night. He sunk to his futon in relief, glad that he hadn't lost his resolve until he heard a soft click and a hiss as the shoji was opened. Another hiss, another click and it was closed. The room was nearly pitch-black, though he could see her perfectly well. She wore nothing but a thin cotton shift, what little light was in the room shone through the fabric so that her lithe figure was silhouetted underneath. How many times had he traced those curves with his own two hands...? His fingers twitched as he tried, and failed, to master himself.

She let out a shaky breath, and before she lost her nerve, she pulled the shift over her head and held it with nerveless fingers before dropping it to the floor, standing naked before him. Blood rushed through his veins, and he could hear every heartbeat, though he wasn't sure if it was his or hers. Swallowing, he sat up, coverlet falling to reveal his bare chest. His eyes traced her body, ending at her feet. She'd always had lovely feet. He watched her set one foot in front of the other, each placed so carefully – like a dancer – until she reached the side of the futon. She bent down and flipped back the coverlet, crawling in next to him.

Lifting her hand, she looked into his eyes hesitantly. Their bodies were so close, the warmth from them radiating ever outwards, their breaths harsh, panting. Rolling her lower lip over her teeth, she inhaled and placed her hand on his chest. After a moment, she could feel his heartbeat, strong and wild. She pressed her hand into his flesh more firmly, feeling the skin underneath. It was thicker than normal, smooth and yet oddly puckered, like a... Her eyes widened, fingers splaying across the scar.

In all the years she'd known him, the few times he'd ever injured himself, he'd always healed over within minutes. Scars and Sesshoumaru had never been acquainted. _How had this_... _where did he_... _what could have_... but the answer was simple and staring her right in the face. She looked into his eyes, pleading with him without words to tell her it wasn't true. That he hadn't done what she thought he'd done. He looked down and then away, ashamed.

Kagome did not pity him. She was proud. He had survived to become so much more than he was before. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to the scar. He stiffened, staring down at the crown of her head. She had always been so bold. It had been one of the things that had drawn him to her. Sensing his gaze, she met it, eyes peeking out from behind her bangs. Her smile turned impish as she pulled back and allowed her hands to explore. Fingers traced his collar bone. She drew them up along his neck, leaving a tingling trail of sensation behind. Her thumb briefly caressed his jaw line before her hand came to rest at mid-shoulder. She leaned in, inhaling his scent before kissing his neck lightly. He shuddered. Her lips, warm and wet, laved his skin. Another shudder and he leaned in. Gods above, she smelled so good.

"Stop," he breathed. She didn't. His hands found her shoulders, and with great gentleness, he held her back. "We can't."

She reached up, placing her hands over his. "Can't or won't?"

"Shouldn't. Your daug--" She leaned in and drew his ear lobe into her mouth, sucking on it sensually before letting it go with an audible pop. He moaned.

"Asleep."

"This is wrong." His hands kneaded her shoulders, positively aching to feel her.

She paused, drawing back to look him in the eye. Her lips trembled as she gazed at him, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. She knew. And she didn't care. She needed this. Her hand found his cheek, gently brushing the area where his markings would be. "Your spell, take it off." His eyebrows twitched as if to ask 'why'. "I want to see you. The _real_ you." When he didn't answer, she became frustrated. In desperation, she whispered, "_please_."

There was a pregnant pause as they pulled away, their gazes shifting to his left arm and the beads wrapped around his wrist. He had worn those beads so long that he couldn't even imagine what it would be like without them, so he hesitated. Lifting his hand, he examined it thoughtfully, touching them with his other hand. His indecision was too much for her to bear. She took his hand, looked him in the eye, and unwound the sacred beads, throwing them across the room. They hit the floor noisily.

In a rush, his power was freed, his aura filling the room instantly like a gust of wind. Kagome watched his markings return with a small, sad smile. "Hello there," she said, a tear slipping from the side of her eye. She wiped it away quickly, intent on exploring his face with her fingertips until she was satisfied.

Her fingers then found his hair, brushing through it carefully. She leaned it and kissed him on the lips. He didn't return it at first, but Kagome had always been stubborn. She kept at it until he did. But he was still so hesitant. The kiss built upon itself. Their lips meeting and parting, meeting and parting, again and again -- the hesitation melted, becoming heated ardor as their hands joined in. Like great explorers, they roved the land. Each bit of skin they touched was an undiscovered country newly found, warm and inviting. They moved closer, everything in slow motion as their bodies touched and then pressed together. She fumbled with his pants. His hips lifted and they were shaken off, thrown into a corner of the room. The coverlet was kicked away as they fell onto the futon, moving with quick urgency as they pleasured each other.

It was quiet, but for the small gasps and moans falling from lover's lips.

Panting heavily, he hovered above her, his sweat-soaked forehead to hers. Their eyes opened simultaneously. There was no one else in the world but them at that moment. Her eyes were still glazed, her cheeks flush and lips swollen. She smiled at him, and it was heartbreakingly beautiful. He had never loved her more.

They rested, curling into a close embrace before beginning again, making love long into the night; only stopping when they were too tired to go on. Sleep claimed her first. She was only human and lacked his stamina. He watched her for awhile before joining her, his arms locked around her waist as if trying to prevent her from escaping.

In those last, quiet moments before he fell asleep, he whispered into her hair, "I love you."

Morning came faster than he liked. His body woke him at the same time like clockwork. Cool November light filtered through the hermitage's high rectangular windows. Eyes opening slowly, he sighed and gazed down at his ex-wife's sleeping face. What had happened last night, he had no illusions that it would last. It wasn't an act of love but desire (on her part, anyway). None-the-less, he was thankful for one more day with her. And it would be only a day, maybe less.

He hadn't used his youkai senses in five years, but he could feel the distant pull of an unfamiliar aura. He gently pried himself away from her grip, replacing the coverlet so that she'd stay warm. Giving her one last lingering look, he turned and dressed quickly, exiting the room as quietly as possible. He had a feeling she would need the rest.

Sesshoumaru stepped into the morning light, calmly sitting down on the boardwalk in front of the hermitage to wait for their visitor. He closed his eyes and meditated. The stairs that led to his home could be something of a chore to ascend for those not used to it. Brighter and brighter the presence got, and once it was close enough, he opened his eyes and stood up, hands clasped behind his back.

He recognized the face of the man that stood before him. He had seen him only once before. It was one of her new friends. He couldn't quite remember the name, however; he thought it might have started with an 'M'. His visitor hadn't been expecting to see him, he was sure. The man froze in place at the top of the stairs, staring at him like he would a dangerous viper that was ready to strike. Sesshoumaru couldn't help but be a bit amused by it all.

"So, you've come for her, then?" The man nodded mutely, lips drawn tight. "Wait here, she'll be with you shortly." And with that, he went inside and woke her up.

He didn't waste much time with small talk as she dressed, though he could tell that she wanted to say something. A conversation about last night was unnecessary. He conveyed it all with a sad, wistful smile which she returned. She was ready seconds later, greeting her friend with a wide grin, so different from the expression she'd just given to him.

Sesshoumaru stepped back, offering them the use of his home. He did not follow them back inside. Instead, he wandered into the forest, though he had no true purpose for doing so. Glancing at the peak far above him, he decided a climb would do him good. It didn't take so long now that he had his youkai strength back, but the exertion did make him feel better. Once he'd reached the summit, he took a moment to gaze at the valley below him, his hand setting on the stone Buddha's head. With a deep breath, he sat down and cleared his mind, resuming his meditation.

He stayed on the mountain for the better part of the day, returning just as the sun went down. The lights from the hermitage were warm and welcoming, yet he was reluctant to enter. He could hear the sounds of laughter, conversation that he knew would stop once he came in. The door opened suddenly, and she was there, a look of deep concern on her face.

"You're late." From the tone of her voice, he could tell she was angry.

"Is everything well?"

She didn't know how to answer that, so she pretended he hadn't asked. "Where were you?"

"Meditating."

"All day?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes," he answered simply. "You didn't answer my question. Is everything well?"

She wanted to rail at him, demand why he had left like that but her tirade died on her lips and what came out was a resigned sigh. "Everything is fine."

"You'll be leaving soon." It was not a question, but a stated fact -- the 'when' was implied.

"Yes, tomorrow."

_So soon_... He broke eye contact. "Tell your friend he may have my room."

"What?! But where will you--"

He held up a hand, and it silenced her. "I am youkai. The forest is as home to me as anyplace else." And before she could object, he melted back into the darkness.

The next morning, he returned, waiting patiently for the humans to wake. It didn't take long. Sesshoumaru had never cared for long goodbyes. It seemed neither of the adult humans did either. Rin caused a bit of a fuss, she had come to like her Sesshoumaru-sama very much. He quieted her objections with a present -- the unfinished dog netsuke which his master had been carving before he'd passed away. It mollified the girl long enough for her mother to pick her up and pass her to her friend. She grabbed his hand and squeezed, resisting the urge to give him a peck on the cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Any time." He squeezed back.

They smiled at each other. He could see the tears in her eyes, and he shook his head. She needn't waste anymore on him, but they came all the same. He wiped one away with the pad of his thumb, and she couldn't resist any longer. She kissed him, putting every last emotion into it to let him know that she hadn't forgotten and even though they could never be together like they once were, she would always remember. And then she pulled back. Her hands slipped from his fingers and she walked away, not looking back even once. But the little girl did. She waved at him as they descended the stairs. He waved back, didn't stop until he knew that it was too far for her to see. It wasn't too far for him. He watched them as they left the stairs, and boarded the old boat that took them to the village. He watched until they became small dots on the horizon, and then he turned away.

Sesshoumaru didn't notice until much later that night that the sacred beads he'd used to conceal himself were gone. She had taken them with her. Absently petting Koma, he smiled softly. Yes, he was quite glad he'd had one more day.


	4. Chapter 4

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER IS RATED FOR LANGUAGE. If you are under the age of 18 or sensitive to such subjects, please do not read any further. **

_Winter_

Standing on the summit of the mountain, Sesshoumaru gazed over the forest at a world muffled by snow. It looked desolate, yet oddly ethereal -- almost magical, really. From this height, he could see the lake, all frozen over and glinting brightly in the glaring winter sun. The forest stood out in barely visible contrast, skeletal trees reaching out from the cold, dead ground, completely covered in newly fallen snow. His breath puffed out around him, curling in the air before dissipating. He had come up here more often lately, though he didn't want to admit why.

A nasty voice in the back of his mind taunted, _she won't return_.

It was right, of course. But he still hoped: however futile it might have been to do so. No contact in a little over ten months. He wondered if she was happy.

_Useless. Useless_.

These were the non-productive avenues of thought that had once gotten him into such trouble. Shaking his head, he decided it was time for the Buddha to return to its rightful place once more. He had found his absolution. Picking the statue up, he trudged back down the mountain, vowing to forget her but knowing he could not.

What was joined must be separated -- he knew this and yet...

He couldn't be pressed to admit it out loud, but ever since she'd left, he had felt a kind of deep restlessness. It had its beginnings the first day she appeared, and had gradually become more insistent. He'd always thought he'd live the rest of his life in this place and it had made him happy, in a strange sort of way. But more and more often he began to wonder at the wisdom of it.

_Love, like a cough, cannot be hidden forever_...

Winter had always been a reflective time for him -- especially since he'd come here. During the spring and summer months Hokkaidō came alive but during the winter it seemed like the most desolate place on earth; so cold, so isolated. And though he didn't lack for things to do, he felt a kind of lethargy take over him that made him not want to venture outside. Koma seemed to agree, barking at him urgently as he trotted far in front of him. The dog didn't understand why they were still here. Home was down there. It was warm and there was food. He barked again, adding a little growl at the end of it. His master laughed, hefting the statue off its pedestal. Satisfied that movement forward was imminent, the dog scurried down the slope nimble as a mountain goat.

The descent wasn't much easier than the climb up hand been; snow had made the path down slippery. Cold seeped through his heavy workman's gloves, his fingers were slowly becoming numb. He'd forestalled it for as long as he could by pushing quick pulses of youki to his extremities, but that was a temporary solution. Looking forward to a warm cup of tea in front of the fire kept him going, even as the cold stole his breath away. He buried his nose into his scarf, wincing as a sudden gust of wind rippled through the forest.

Twenty minutes later found him in sight of the hermitage, his dog already sitting expectantly on the boardwalk. He marched up quickly, stomping the snow off before he entered his home. The door was closed and shoes were quickly kicked off. He strode past the sunken fire pit in the middle of the room to the small shrine just across from it, where the Buddha was placed with utmost reverence, overlooking the hearth serenely. Logs were then gathered and placed in the fire-pit, flint was struck and within five minutes a small but cheery fire crackled merrily. The stiff, frozen air was driven out, and warmth enveloped the tiny domicile.

Sesshoumaru had shed his damp outer clothes, carefully laying them out near the fire to dry, along with his shoes. He then rummaged around for a blanket made for him by one the village women, which he wrapped around his shoulders. The dog watched him quietly, his big brown eyes following every movement. A tea kettle was set on the hook that hung above the hearth. Before he settled down to wait for the water to boil, he filled the dog's food dish, smiling a bit at how swiftly the dog had left his place by the fire. He left the mutt to his meal, sitting on a zabuton near the fire and rubbing his hands over it. Feeling soon returned.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, rubbing his hands and staring into the fire, but it was a very long time. Hungry, he made himself a bowl of leftover stew. Bored, he pulled out the scrolls he'd collected over the years and read them. When that failed to amuse him for long, he wandered around the house, cleaning, fixing things that needed fixing -- noting that there seemed to be another hole in the roof, this time in the store room, though by that time, the sun was low in the sky. It was a project for tomorrow, then.

His hearth beckoned him back, and so he sat down in front of it again, content to meditate on the last glowing embers. Setting a few more logs on to last the night, he cajoled the fire to full strength. He lay out his futon by the hearth, rarely sleeping in the bedrooms as they were far too cold this time of year, fire or no fire. Wrapping himself a large pile of layered blankets, dog curled at his feet, he stared at the fire, opening and closing his eyes languidly until it was too much effort to remain awake. Soon the only sounds inside the hermitage were the steady, rhythmic breathing of its sleeping inhabits and the quiet hissing of the fire as it slowly died out and cooled.

The next morning, at the crack of dawn, Sesshoumaru awoke stiff and cold, and decidedly not alone. Sometime during the night, Koma had found his way under the blankets and now occupied a rather large part of his futon near his feet. Sesshoumaru almost hated waking the poor boy up. He was getting on in years. But the bedding had to be put away; he detested disorder of any kind.

Once the room was neatened, the fire relit and breakfast was eaten, he bundled up for a long day of work. Contrary to popular belief, youkai were not impervious to the weather. They felt its effects like any human would, they were just better able to control their reactions to it. If they had to, a youkai could endure the cold without the customary precautions a human might take to ward against it. This did not imply that they enjoyed doing so. Sesshoumaru hated being cold with a passion. His clan hailed from Osaka, a relatively temperate region which didn't experience the deep cold of winter quite like Hokkaidō.

He braided his hair and rolled it into a messy bun, having no desire for it to become wet. A scarf was wrapped around his neck, a hat pulled on, arms eased into the sleeves of his coat, and warm winter work boots were tied carefully before he stepped outside. He opened the door, leaning back as his face was blasted with a bracing gust of wind. The first step out was always the worst. Trudging out to the tool shed, he gathered what he needed to fix the roof.

The ladder made a hollow, metallic sound as he leaned it up against the side of the hermitage. He climbed up, taking a broom with him to scrape off the loose snow. It was such an awful, mundane task, that had anyone who'd known him in his life before wouldn't have believed their eyes. Not only because he was doing a task he would have assigned to one of his many servants, but because he had chosen such a human way to go about things. Back then, he had never lacked an excuse to flaunt his power, but now he used it very, very rarely. The old man would have been proud, for the most part... because seconds later Sesshoumaru flared his youki, melting the packed ice covering the roof tiles. There were some tasks in this world that can only be accomplished by doing them the easy way. Besides, he'd noticed odd fluctuations in his power. It seemed less than it had been before, though he couldn't imagine why. He tried to use it a bit more often; it helped, but not by much. The situation was frustrating, but didn't concern him too much; he got on well without it for so long.

Sesshoumaru wondered vaguely if he might be fading. There was a part of him that had almost come to peace with that. If it was time for him to disappear from this world, so be it. He had found what he was looking for...

He spent the better part of the morning fussing with the roof. By late afternoon he had nearly found the source of the problem when he sensed something in the distance. Someone was coming -- two of the auras he recognized easily, his brother and his psychiatrist, Dr. Nomura -- the other he vaguely remembered, seeing a face but not a name; it was definitely male with some holy power. Turning his head, he looked towards the stairs. They'd be there soon. Not wanting the dog to bother his visitors, he confined it to his room in the hermitage. While he was in there, he stoked the fire and put on some water for tea before exiting.

He waited for them patiently. Seconds later, the hanyou's head crested the stairs. The brothers stood across from each other as stiff as statues, staring across a wide gulf that had always separated them. Sesshoumaru smiled and bowed politely, the wisdom and serenity he'd gained his five years showing in his eyes. "Welcome, brother." Inuyasha gawped at him, stunned. Sesshoumaru had never referred to him as a brother, ever. He'd barely acknowledged they were even related at all. _Was he serious??!_ He narrowed his eyes. The man that stood before him looked like Sesshoumaru, smelled like him... The youkai turned around abruptly without even waiting for him to answer. "Are you coming, Inuyasha?" Though it was a question, there was a lilting imperiousness in his tone that made it sound a bit more like a statement or a command.

'Yep,' Inuyasha thought, 'it's Sesshoumaru all right.'

"Inuyasha, is everything okay?" asked a voice.

The hanyou glanced back, having barely noticed Miroku's arrival in his shock over the change in his half-brother. "Yeah, everything's hunky-dory. Let's go inside, it's fucking freezing out here."

They all filed into the hermitage, and while it was certainly cramped, they were grateful to be someplace warm. Being a dutiful host, Sesshoumaru offered them all tea which everyone, save Inuyasha, eagerly accepted. They sat quietly, sipping tea while they warmed up, trying their best to not notice the way the daiyoukai was eyeing them.

Sesshoumaru couldn't help but feel a bit perplexed. It was strange enough that his half-brother had decided to make a spontaneous visit, but to come with the doctor and some human he vaguely recognized.

Politely setting his empty teacup down, Dr. Nomura was the first to speak. "I suppose you might be wondering why we're all here."

Sesshoumaru did not answer in any discernable way. He had been under the impression he'd been doing well. His most recent appointment with the good doctor had only been a week and a half ago. Nomura-sensei had told him he was doing so well that he had cancelled his last remaining prescription, not that he'd been taking it anymore. He hadn't needed it in ages. The instability of years past had been conquered. That part of his life was over with and there was no reason for this show of force. It was insulting.

Everyone else in the room shifted uncomfortably, waiting for an answer that would never come. Coughing nervously, the doctor continued on as if Sesshoumaru had. "It was your brother's idea. He thought it prudent to come together." Glancing back and forth at his companions, he continued, though he was clearly uncomfortable. "You see, we have some bad news..."

Sesshoumaru shot a quick glare at Inuyasha, greatly regretting calling the hanyou brother earlier. "I can't imagine any news that is so pressing that requires _three_ people to deliver it... I think one might have sufficed," Sesshoumaru stated plainly. "Or perhaps you were worried I might kill the messenger?" There was a long, awkward pause that told him everything he needed to know. "Your lack of faith in me, doctor, is most displeasing. I am not that man anymore."

Inuyasha let out a loud snort. "_That_ remains to be seen," he muttered.

His companions both glared at him. The man Sesshoumaru didn't entirely recognize, called Miroku, hissed, "You're not helping, Inuyasha."

Nomura gave another cough that seemed far too deliberate to be real. "As I said, we have some bad news... Mirkou, if would you be so kind..."

Sesshoumaru's attention was firmly turned to Miroku. He did not know this man, not personally, but there was something about his scent... it felt as if he should remember. As if reading his mind, the young man spoke up, "Watanabe Miroku, Kagome's friend," and then he bowed. It was rather shallow because he had not taken off what looked to be some kind primitive sling pack that wrapped over one shoulder and around his chest. Sesshoumaru noticed the way he cradled it, as if whatever it held was precious. He looked the young man in the eyes then, hoping to discern his intent. His eyes spoke -- there was a great deal of fear but there were equal amounts of sincerity.

Sesshoumaru returned the young man's bow. "Please to meet you, Watanabe-san."

The young man seemed honestly shocked at the youkai's rather pleasant reply. "W-we've met before," he stuttered. Miroku could admit that he was intimidated by the daiyoukai. His power filled the room, nearly suffocating him. It made it hard for him to speak. Despite the youkai's assurances, Miroku did not think he would be above violence once he knew...

"Is that so?"

"Yes, ten months ago."

"Ah, yes. I remember now. Is Kagome well?" The young man blanched, his throat going suddenly quite dry. His fingers curled into a fists as he looked down, avoiding the youkai's eyes. "Is she well?" he repeated, his tone insistent.

Licking his lips, the young man shook his head. "No, she's not." And then he looked up, his eyes watery.

The room went very, very quiet.

"What happened?" The words were spoken so softly as to be barely audible but the terrible intensity behind them carried. They were words that would not be ignored. And when the young man said nothing, Sesshoumaru became adamant. "Tell me."

A vast sea of emotions moved back and forth like the tide across his face, before he took a deep breath and spoke the words Sesshoumaru dreaded he would hear. "Kagome is... s-she passed away. She's dead."

The youkai shook his head in disbelief, barely able to stutter out, "When...?"

"Two weeks ago."

"Two weeks... How?"

"Complications from childbirth. She... huh-h-had gone into labor early. There were some problems -- she wasn't dilated like she should be. So, the doctors gave her something to help make things go faster. She had the baby, but, uh, what the doctors didn't know was... there had been some scarring from when she had Rin. It was barely detectable, easy to miss, but those scars opened during labor. By the time they noticed she had already bled out... it was so quick. Just thirty minutes and she was gone. She never even got to see--"

"Kagome was pregnant?"

"You... you didn't know?"

The daiyoukai looked at him in bewilderment.

Miroku's eyes widened. "She never told you," he breathed, unconsciously touching the bundle cradled to his chest.

Sesshoumaru did some quick mental math. Glaring at the man angrily, he hissed, "You lie."

"It's the truth," Miroku replied, his mouth set into a firm line. He would not be called a liar.

"That's impossible. She was here ten months ago. _If_ she were pregnant, the child would have been late, _not_ early."

Tipping his chin up, Miroku sat tall, looking Sesshoumaru dead in the eye. "You'd be right, _if _her child was human."

"Not... human..." His tongue felt thick in his mouth, the words sounding foreign as they slipped past his lips.

Blazing, golden eyes watched as the young human carefully reached into the sling, arranging it so that Sesshoumaru could see what was inside. From the folds of the blanket, a tiny face peeked out -- pale and pink and vulnerable. The child's head was covered with a soft blue knitted cap, no doubt made by Kagome herself. Miroku fingered the cap gently, smiling sadly as he regarded the sleeping child. He moved closer to the youkai, glancing up at him briefly before settling down. Then he very carefully pulled the cap off to reveal the tousled white hair covering the child's head. The youkai had been stunned silent, looking down at the child like he'd never seen one before. With glacial slowness, Sesshoumaru lifted his hand, touching the child's hair with the tips of his fingers. The emotional torment of the moment was too much. He began to tremble, his eyes could barely see; he shook his head. _This couldn't be_... but the human nodded. It very much was.

"Would you like to hold your son?" The youkai stared at him blankly, clearly unsure if he should. "He won't break, I assure you." The youkai nodded mutely. With great gentleness, Miroku transferred the child into his father's arms. The baby protested it a bit, but quickly quieted once he was settled. Several quiet minutes passed where all attention in the room was on its smallest inhabitant. Sesshoumaru looked down at the child, confused; his index finger tracing the child's very human ears.

"His ears..."

"Keh! Not every hanyou is alike! Even I know that," Inuyasha barked, clearly insulted at the assumption.

Sesshoumaru did not hear the hanyou's protest; he was too focused on the child. He was so small, so fragile. Tiny face wrinkling as he shifted, the baby yawned, his eyes opening slightly. They were still the dark blue common amongst newborns, but Sesshoumaru could see slight flecks of gold around the pupil.

"My son," he whispered, his eyes never left the child's face. "What's his name?"

"Touga," Miroku answered. "She said that if she had a boy, she'd name him Touga."

"Touga." He could barely choke it out -- his father's name. She remembered. He suddenly felt very tired. It was too much. Too much, with not nearly enough time to absorb everything.

Seeing that the youkai was quickly becoming overwhelmed, the doctor asked, "Sesshoumaru, do you need a moment?"

He nodded numbly, practically shoving the child back into Mirkou's arms as he made a swift exit. The remaining inhabitants of the room looked at each other curiously. Inuyasha and the doctor shared a look, before the hanyou stood and followed his brother. In the silence left behind, the child began to wail.

Sesshoumaru ran, he wasn't really sure for how long. His emotions hadn't been so erratic and uncontrolled for a long time. How could she do this to him? Why hadn't she said anything? How could they just show up here and throw this in his lap, no warning? He wasn't even sure what to feel -- though the most predominant emotions were anger and anguish. It wasn't supposed to be this way. That last time together... it had been his way of letting go, but he had never thought it would be the last time he saw her. She should be happy... alive to see her daughter grow up, get married and have children of her own.

_It wasn't supposed to be this way_... it was a mantra that he repeated over and over; his mind was simply unable to let it go. He reached the pedestal that the Buddha had once occupied. Had he gone through the last five years for nothing? He remembered all the arguments they had about children. He had _told_ her how hard hanyou births were. A human woman was ill equipped to deal with the growing youki of her half-demon child. It sapped the strength, made the mother weaker and more likely to experience complications during childbirth... Gods above, he told her all this. Why didn't she call? Was she _that_ afraid of him? He had never felt more like a monster in his life. He would have done anything for her, anything. Yes, he wouldn't have been happy at first, but only because he worried for her health. He had always wanted children, but not at her expense. Couldn't she see that? But in her fear of him, fear _he_ had instilled, she had denied him.

He was such a fool. He thought he'd made such strides but he had learned nothing. He should have been more careful. He should have controlled himself, refused her when he had the chance. He should have been there and now she was gone, and there was nothing he could do. _She was gone_...

Wisdom that came at such a cost was worth less than nothing. No, it wasn't wisdom at all. It was plain foolishness. _All for nothing_...

The rage and the sorrow were too much. His eyes turned red; poison festering from lengthened claws. He let out a feral roar that echoed through the wilderness. Trembling uncontrollably, he put his fist through the pedestal with a sickening crack, breaking it in half. He pulled his hand out violently, spraying a fine mist of Dokkasou over what remained and watching the stone disintegrate with a certain sense of satisfaction. Breathing heavily, he let the moment pass, regretting his loss of control almost immediately when he sensed his brother's aura just behind him. He turned, regarding the hanyou with clear, golden eyes. The hanyou gazed back, his stance tense, hand resting on the sword strapped to his back.

"You okay?" Inuyasha asked carefully. A raised eyebrow was his only answer. It was not enough to convince him. "_Seriously_... you okay?"

"I'm fine."

The hanyou eyeballed him for a second, finally allowing his hands to rest at his sides. "So, what're you gonna do?"

"Do?"

"Yeah, I mean, you can't stay here," stated the hanyou, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Why would I leave?"

Inuyasha could barely believe his ears. "You... you gotta be kidding me! This ain't no place for a kid to grow up!"

It was Sesshoumaru's turn to be confused. What nonsense was the hanyou talking about now? Furrowing his eyebrows, he shook his head. "The child will not be staying here."

_Well, that just makes no sense_, the hanyou thought, puzzling it out slowly. "If you aren't leaving and the kid ain't staying... Son of a-- You gotta be _fucking_ joking! You're that kid's father and you're just gonna walk out on him?! What the hell is wrong with you?!" Inuyasha bellowed incredulously.

"Nothing. It is in the child's best interest..."

"THE CHILD'S BEST INTEREST?! Abandoning him, that's in his best interest -- that's some genius fucking logic. Jesus Christ..." Inuyasha spat disgustedly.

"I am unprepared to--"

"WHO THE FUCK IS PREPARED?! NO ONE IS! You think I was when Kikyou had the twins?! I was scared shitless but I manned up real quick. There ain't no doubt that this is a shitty situation, but it is what it is. Like it or not, you have an obligation to that kid."

Sesshoumaru was quickly losing patience with the boy. "You don't understand. I'm not fit to be a father..."

"OH! FUCK YOU!" Inuyasha snarled. "You sound just like dad!"

"I am _nothing_ like father," he growled darkly.

"Bullshit! He was always bitching and moaning about how he wasn't good enough to be our father, right before ditching us for his latest hooker of the week."

"That and this have nothing to do with each other."

"Oh, I'M SOOOOO SAH-REE. Playing hermit on the mountain is soooo much better. Totally negates your responsibility to that kid," the hanyou ranted, incensed beyond all reason. "You DO realize where they'll send him, right?" Sesshoumaru nodded. "And you're okay with that?" The daiyoukai merely blinked. Utterly defeated, he threw up his hands, giving up. "Unbelievable. You... you are a piece of work. You know, as much of a bastard as you were to me when I was a kid, I still looked up to you. Fuck this." He shook his head, his eyes glassy with anger and sorrow. With a disgusted sigh, he turned his back to leave, muttering, not so silently, under his breath, "you really are as bad as he is... god-damned stinking coward."

"What did you just call me?"

Inuyasha turned around slowly, snarling, "I called you a lousy, stinking coward. Your reasons might be 'noble', but it's still a shitty thing to do to a kid."

"You go too far, half-breed."

"Really? Well, I call 'em like I see 'em. You. Are. A. Fucking. _Coward_."

In less than an eye blink, Sesshoumaru launched himself at his half-brother, decking him square in the face. The hanyou was sent flying into several trees before falling into a heap on the forest floor. Sesshoumaru stalked after him, hoping that had been enough to stay the hanyou's wagging tongue. He found the boy struggling to his feet at the base of a large tree. Stumbling, he managed to stand, wiping away the blood that poured from his nose and mouth. Looking down at his blood covered fingers, he laughed.

"_That's_ the Sesshoumaru I know," he declared, spitting out a big glob of blood onto the pristine snow. The contrast was glaring. "I think you busted my back," he said, reaching behind to rub a sore spot. Instead of a back injury, he found a large tear in his coat. Quickly divesting himself of the garment, he held it out and stared at it. "Shit. This was a new coat. Kikyou's gonna kill me!" He glanced up at Sesshoumaru, brandishing his ruined coat. "OI! Prick! You owe me a new coat!" But his brother was no longer listening. His gaze was firmly fixed on the sky. There was such great sorrow there that any other words Inuyasha had for his brother lodged in his throat. The hanyou followed Sesshoumaru's gaze to the piercingly blue sky. It was snowing... but there were no clouds. _Strange_. The daiyoukai seemed lost in thought and the silence made his half-brother uncomfortable. He was used to the arrogant, taunting Sesshoumaru, the quiet, reflective one was freaking him out.

"Why?"

The softly worded question made the hanyou jump. "Why? Why what? Why do you owe me a new coat? I think the answer to that one is--"

Sesshoumaru ignored or hadn't heard what his brother had said, continuing on as if he'd received no answer at all. "Why _her_, Inuyasha? It shouldn't have been her..." He trailed off. The true meaning of that statement hanging unspoken in the air: _it should have been me_. "I'd have given anything... _anything_ for her to be happy. She deserved it. She deserved to live." His words were spoken with quiet vehemence, startling his hanyou brother with their sincerity.

Inuyasha didn't like the way this was going, at all. His brother sounded like he had the night he'd tried to end himself. A night he wished like hell he could forget. "Where you going with this?"

"It isn't fair. It isn't _right_," he breathed, his fingers clenching and unclenching.

"It isn't but no one said life was fair. _You_ told me that when my mom died. It was a pretty fucked up thing to say, but it's the truth. So, the way I see it, you got two choices, lay down and die. Or fight -- _live_, for that kid." Inuyasha paused; in the back of his mind remembering his brother, covered head to toe in his own blood and blind stinking drunk with an ornamental vajra stuck half-way through his chest. "I swear to god, if you even think--"

"Worried for me, are you? Your concern is touching, but unnecessary."

"Yeah, well, all I'm saying is... don't do anything stupid, you're all that kid has now. He needs you." Inuyasha could tell his brother was on the verge of deciding. "You're his father. Every kid needs a father."

"She didn't tell me." As if by not telling him, she didn't acknowledge his part in their son's creation.

"And you're surprised? I think it's damn obvious why she didn't." He sighed, hating that he had to resort to this as he pulled a letter from his back pocket and handed it to his elder brother. "I found this when going through her stuff. Didn't know what it was till I read some of it. She was going to tell you." His voice caught then, his eyes shimmering wetly. It lasted only a moment. "Just never got around to sending it, I guess."

Sesshoumaru took it, carefully pulling the letter from the envelope. It began: _Dear Sesshoumaru,_

_I don't know how many times I've tried to sit down and write you this letter. There are so many things I want to say. When I came to you, I had no idea what to expect_... he skimmed through this part. It didn't say much that he didn't know already, just remarking on how much he'd changed and how she felt almost as if she didn't know him anymore. He picked it back up around a page later ..._I have some news, though I don't know if you'll be happy or not. In my head, I thought of a thousand different ways to tell you, but momma always said that simplicity is best. _

_I'm pregnant. It's yours. Right now I bet you're asking yourself how I can be so sure_. _Truth is: I haven't been with a man since I was with you. Frankly, I'm not sure if I could ever be with another man again. I've missed you, Sesshoumaru. More than words can say. I've struggled so hard with this... with telling you, because I'm afraid. Not just because of your feelings about hanyou (though that is a legitimate worry). But because I think I still love you. No, that's not entirely true. I've always loved you. I could never stop, no matter how hard I tried. _

_I don't really want to bring this child into the world without a father, but I worry... so much has changed but I'm afraid that some things might remain the same. I want my child to have a father, but could you love a hanyou? I don't know and it terrifies me_... he could barely read on, but the masochistic streak in him couldn't stop ..._Then I remember that night and I think I have my answer. I love you, Saitō Sesshoumaru. And if I'm right, I know you love me. _

_Please, come home_.

Had he been capable, he would have wept at her words but the tears would not come. Such expression of sorrow was a human thing; youkai were not meant to cry. His eyes flashed red, feeling overwhelming rage and frustration at himself that even in the face of her death he still lacked the freedom of emotion to weep. Even his half-brother... even he could summon tears. He looked down at her words again. _I love you_...

"I love you," he murmured, gulping frigid winter air that burned his lungs. "Kagome... always"

His entire body shuddered, feeling a wave of dizziness just before his knees buckled underneath him. The letter was clutched tightly in one hand while the other covered his eyes. Truly, there was only so much anyone could take in one day -- even a great daiyoukai.

Inuyasha was acutely uncomfortable with the display. This was the second time he'd seen his great and terrible brother this vulnerable. It was just as weird (not to mention terrifying) now and it was then. He turned away, allowing his brother time to grieve privately and get back to being the cold bastard he normally was.

Several minutes passed, but eventually Sesshoumaru collected himself. He stood and walked past his brother, so calm and composed that no one would ever guess that he had nearly had an emotional breakdown. The hanyou stared after him, not so much stunned at how quickly the daiyoukai recovered but by the sheer determination in his gait. Had he decided then?

Running after him, he shouted, "OI! Where are you going?"

"To get my son," Sesshoumaru answered. "We're going home."

**Cultural Notes/Translations**

_Zabuton:_ Square pillow used in most Japanese homes to sit on in tatami mat rooms.

_Vajra:_ Small scepter some Buddhist monks use to perform certain ceremonies. The original Sanskrit meaning of the word is diamond/thunderbolt. The vajra is an important religious symbol for many Buddhists because it represents the firmness of spirit and the spiritual power it imparts.


	5. Chapter 5

_Spring_

One of the first things he noticed about people was their hands. Being small for his age, it was pretty much the first thing he could see. Removing a mitten, he noted that his hands were unremarkable, except for the smallish scab on his wrist that was quickly healing over. He'd gotten the cut just this morning rough-housing with his cousins. His nanny, Kaede-oba-san, had put a band-aid on it at his insistence, though it wasn't necessary. She said it'd heal by the end of the day. Touga secretly hoped it wouldn't. He had always wanted a scar. His half-sister Rin had them. She didn't like them much, but Touga could not see why. His father had one too, though he wouldn't ever talk about it. Even his noisy, obnoxious cousins had a few scars. It simply wasn't fair that he didn't too.

Father said that because he was hanyou he wouldn't scar like Rin or his cousins. Rin was a human and therefore fragile, scarring was natural for them. His cousins were only a quarter youkai, making them more human than hanyou. They healed better than Rin would, but not as good as a true hanyou. His father... well, he asked Kaede why his father had a scar but she wouldn't tell him either.

It was very frustrating.

Then he noticed how far ahead of him his father had gotten. Alarmed, he ran as fast as he could, though it was still hard to catch up to him. Father was very fast and he couldn't always keep pace. Out of breath but glad he hadn't lost him again, the little hanyou pulled off his mitten, reached up and grabbed his father's hand, enjoying the rough texture of his palm. He squeezed his father's hand, feeling childish glee when his father squeezed back. They walked in pleasant, companionable silence surrounded by the music of the forest and the crunching sound of their footfalls on the gradually thawing earth.

Touga enjoyed this moment alone with his father. Going on vacation with extended family could be rough. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy spending time with his cousins, on the contrary, but he wasn't always used to the constant noise and chaos surrounding his uncle's family. His life with his father was quiet, peaceful. It could be boring at times, but other times... when it was just him and his dad, he loved and cherished those times because during those quiet times, his dad showed him a different face, one that no one else in the world ever saw, making Touga feel as if he were in on a great secret.

This was one of those times.

When they awoke in the hotel this morning, his father had told them that they were going someplace special today. They had gone over to his uncle's room just as they had the last two days. Touga had assumed that his father and uncle wanted to coordinate schedules, as traveling with such a large group presented considerable logistical issues. He vaguely wondered where they might go. His cousin, Nobuo, had postulated that they might be going to Ainu Kotan -- a district in Akankohan that was lined with shops that sold traditional Ainu handicrafts. It also had a museum of Ainu culture that Nobuo insisted they were going visit because his mother was determined to make this vacation fun AND educational, being that they had no homework over spring break. His twin brother disagreed vehemently, stating that their dad said they'd be going on the boat tour to the Marimo Exhibition Center. The argument quickly got heated, as it was clear both boys had their own agenda and had been hoping to somehow sway their parents into taking them where they wanted to go.

"That's just because you want to see some of that crappy algae!" Nobuo shouted.

"IS NOT!"

And just like that, the twins began to roll on the ground, throwing wild punches at each other. Touga became involved because his youngest cousin, Nanako, had begged him to intervene. She never liked it when her brothers fought. Touga adamantly refused.

"If they want to act like idiots, why should I stop them?" he'd scoffed. His father had taught him the value of knowing when to fight. And seeing as his cousins seemed to feel that breathing was a legitimate reason to brawl like a pair of savages, a disagreement was inevitable and it was pointless to even attempt to stop it.

Nanako had continued to beg and plead, with tears and everything. You see, despite being quite small for a six year old, he was stronger than he looked; much stronger. It had been clear early on that his older cousins, though bigger than him, were no match for the young hanyou. He carried the strength of both his father and his mother. No quarter youkai could hope to best him, and he found himself putting his cousins in their place more often than he liked. This time, however, he had no intention of stepping in, no matter how much Nanako cried. Their fighting had gotten quite tiresome. He'd rather be reading. And he turned away to do just that when one of them, he wasn't sure which -- being twins and all -- tackled him from behind. Apparently, they'd heard his imperious little speech and took exception to it. The fight got rough which inevitably ended in something getting broken. That something would be one of the hotel's heavy crystal ashtrays which had been broken over his hand, leaving him with the small scab on his wrist that was now very close to falling off.

Once the adults had finally heard the noise, they came charging into the room demanding answers. There was a lot of shouting, mostly by his cousins, who were both trying to tell their sides of the story simultaneously. Touga knew better than that. He stayed quiet and tried not to look in his father's face. His dad rarely ever got really angry with him. No, he just got disappointed, which was far worse. While his Uncle Inuyasha and his Aunt Kikyou were busy arguing with their brood, his father stepped forward.

"Touga, come." And without further word, his father turned and left. After a second of indecision, he followed, head hung low.

His father took him into the next room, where Kaede tended to him. They left shortly after that. His father had still not said anything to him, not even when he was buckling him into his car-seat in the rental car. He didn't even say anything for the one hour ride to Teshikaga-chō. It made Touga very nervous. His father being that quiet generally meant he was very angry.

Touga tried not to show how upset he was. He felt so bad for fighting with his cousins, even though, technically, it wasn't his fault. Father didn't much care for who might be at fault, he knew this. He had always said that there was a right choice and a wrong choice in any situation, and that a wise man would know the difference. He also said that a wise man took responsibility for those decisions, no matter if they were right or wrong. Clearing away all excuses, Touga knew his decision wasn't the best one, but how to make it right... he had no idea.

This made breakfast quite awkward. That feeling was made worse when they finally arrived at Lake Mashū. The little hanyou quickly found a brochure at one of the souvenir stands for something to do. _Lake Mashū is one of the world's clearest lakes_... _how interesting_. It also mentioned what fish could be found in the lake (there were only two, trout and salmon), the lake's depth (211.5 m.) and average temperatures during the summer months (14.5° C.) and other interesting facts (the Ainu name for the lake was Kamuy-to -- the Lake of the Gods). Very dry stuff, but it was a good way to avoid the tense silence while his father unpacked their supplies.

Without a word, his father handed him a backpack, swinging a pack of his own over his shoulders as he calmly walked away from the parking lot and towards one of the hiking trails. Sighing deeply, the little hanyou followed. They hiked along the trail for a very long time. It was hard going, it was cold and the slope was steep, but the scenery was quite beautiful. Moving his fingers inside his gloves, he watched a bird fly over the still frozen lake. Noting the bird's plumage, he stopped momentarily to pull out his Guide to Birds of Japan. _White-tailed eagle_... he smiled, digging deeper in his pack for a pencil. He quickly crossed it off his list, a small, toothy grin lighting his face. It fell quickly when he looked around to tell his father and found himself quite alone.

Initially, he had panicked, looking around and calling for his father frantically. When that didn't work, the panic turned to terror and he began to cry, stumbling around the trail blindly until he caught his father's scent, which had gone off the trail and straight into the woods. The little hanyou ran after him desperately until he caught up, face still streaked with tears. His father said nothing, stopping long enough to set a hand on his head before giving him a bottle of water and a package of tissues silently. It was his father's quirky way of making things right between them. And that was where he had found himself now. He knew that his father would require an explanation at some point, but he was not angry with him. It made the walk that much more pleasant and allowed Touga to enjoy the crisp spring afternoon.

Home, in Okinawa, it was always warm. He wasn't used to the cold Hokkaidō weather. His mitten felt strange and uncomfortable but it was an interesting change. In school, they taught everyone about how some places had different seasons and weather and whatnot. He had been concerned when father had said they'd visit Hokkaidō in the spring, because teacher had told him that spring was when the snow melted and he very much wanted to see what it looked like. How lucky for him that it was so cold in Hokkaidō that some of the snow hadn't melted yet.

His father, sensing the boy's eagerness, let go and nodded, giving the boy permission to go ahead -- his son gave him an earsplitting smile, dashing off like a shot, his backpack bouncing merrily as he ran. He couldn't help but watch with a certain sense of amusement as the boy gleefully picked up handfuls of half melted snow, only to find it unpleasantly cold without his other mitten. The boy quickly replaced it, attempting to pack the snow together with newly be-mittened hands. It was far too slushy to make a good snowball, but was still fun enough for him to throw. And when he tired of that, he skipped ahead, investigating newly budded plants as they came from hibernation until a squirrel drew his attention. He stalked it for a bit, but soon found himself invested in collecting various rocks that drew his interest. It made Sesshoumaru smile. Though the boy took after his side of the family in looks, his personality was all his mother: curious and stubborn.

He would not say that the last six years had been easy. There was no doubt it had been hard. But he would say that those years were the most rewarding of his long life. His son meant everything to him; he was his joy, his life.

When he had come down from that mountain, he had left with the clothes on his back, his son, and nothing else. It was hard enough to start over on your own, but with a child had made it doubly difficult. He had a stipend from a trust fund set up for him by his brother, along with stocks in his old architectural firm. His brother still worked there as an engineer, and had told him there was a place reserved for him in his own company if he wanted it. Sesshoumaru demurred politely. Reclaiming his old job had not even occurred to him. He had left it behind a very long time ago and he felt he was better for it. That life no longer interested him.

Instead, he picked up an old hobby he'd enjoyed in college: Pottery. He had a talent for it, but had been so focused a money-making career that he had easily left it behind. His old teacher, Urasue-sama, had been so disappointed when he gave it up. He hadn't really known what it was that compelled him to look her up and call her, but he was glad for it. She had brought him to Okinawa and got him started again. Going back to it had been pleasant, and very therapeutic. The rest was, as they say, history. Six months after he'd left Hokkaidō, he made the move permanent, settling down in Okinawa's capitol, Naha. He and his son had a nice apartment over his gallery in the pottery district. It was a good life. Just as simple as what he'd had here but oddly more fulfilling...

There had been a short time, when his son was still small, when he wondered if it had been the right choice to leave this mountain. Looking at it now, he couldn't imagine his life any different. The old man had been right about so many things but the one lesson he remembered most everyday was the value of struggle. He hadn't truly understood that lesson until he left. There were regrets and a great deal of guilt that never went away. He had thought that it had, but truly it was always there and he doubt it would ever leave entirely. But he would not let it defeat him. He would _not_ fade. He would move on, stronger and wiser and happier than he had been in a long time... even if he didn't always feel he deserved it. For the first time in his life the earth had hardened -- it had been raining for so long.

Then he realized that he would have to return one more time, to pay respects to the old man who taught him so much. His life seemed to roll in odd circles, one would turn and he was obliged to make peace with that which he left behind. Coming up here had been the completion of one full circle. He would say goodbye to his time on the mountain and fully embrace the new life he had created with his son.

Suddenly, as if summoned by thought, his boy was standing right in front of him, staring at him expectantly with wide golden eyes. "Da! DA! Look what I found!!" Touga proudly held up a handful of pinecones for his father's inspection.

"Hn. Black pine," he commented, picking up a pair of bright green pinecones from his son's outstretched hand and examining them carefully: one male and one female. "I think we can get one of these to grow."

"To make a bonsai?" his son asked excitedly. Being so small, he had a tendency towards liking other small things like him.

"Perhaps."

His son immediately handed the pinecones over. Sesshoumaru put them in his pack, smiling yet again when his son charged off into the forest without a word seeking the next new adventure fearlessly. Truly, he was his mother's son. She would be so proud of him... it was unfair she wasn't here to see him grow and it still pained him to think of it. He could not understand it, nor would he ever. His only hope was that their souls might meet again someday. Until then, he had a small piece of her alive in his son and that was more than enough.

**FIN**


End file.
